Wednesday, 28 January 2015

I understand that normal is
a relative term and we all classify things, people and experiences as 'normal' based
on our own knowledge and experience. Clearly, it represents a spectrum of experience and perspective.

However, I increasingly
realise that as a family we have strayed from the accepted ‘normal’ and into a
place that is anything but that. Of course that is not exclusive to adoption,
but many friends and acquaintances that have adopted have made this journey and
testify to this.

The common denominator being that we are the parents of
children who’s view of themselves and the world they find themselves in is not
comparable to their peers’ views. Nor does it align with the 'normal' views of their families or the
adults that they interact with. From this they act and react and as they see it their behaviour is a natural and justified response to the world they live in.

eg.

In many parts of the known
universe if you drop something on my toe it would be 'normal' to say sorry and I'd say it's fine.

However, in my little
corner of the universe things run to a different 'normal' order. If you drop something on my
toe it's my fault for having toes and actually I should apologise for being
hurt and while we're on I'm an idiot.

Living at the intersection
of these two ‘normals’ is challenging. Managing the needs of our children, families and the world we interact with.

Either clearing a way
ahead, having a quiet word in the football coach/teacher/family
member/visitor/friend/schoolyard parents ear. Asking to not be invited to the roller disco, sleepover or birthday party. Not to win the prize or act in the play.Or

Sweeping up behind, giving palatable explanations, saying sorry or asking if we could not be invited next time. Getting shouted at, screamed and spat at and bearing the bunt of the fear and pain.

We balance the needs of these opposing world views, whilst embracing them both.

Friday, 23 January 2015

We did our best and resisted the authorities but they will
have their way.

We know it’s in her ‘best interests’.

We stalled as long as we could postponing the inevitable.

With a heavy heart we announce that Peanut is going to
Nursery.

Yes, she’ll look cute on the first day, but that is no
consolation.

I know peanut and her story, though crestfallen, I’m confident Peanut will do fine.

I cannot say that for all my children.

The recent Twitter feed from the @BAAFAdoption conference on
education was interesting to follow.

Stark facts on the educational outcomes for children in the
care system that are shadowed, varyingly, in adopted children’s lives.

The # for the twitter feed was #aimhigher and being honest I
could not help but reflect on the aspirations that I have for my children.

We have had a spectrum of experiences with schools good, bad and
everything in-between. By the time Peanut leaves school we will have been at
the school gates and parents evenings for 28 consecutive years, we've seen a lot.

I confess to having different priorities for each of my
children and they reflect each of children’s
unique experiences, view of themselves and the world they live in.

Generally:

I want them to be and feel safe.

I want them to be at school not marginalised/excluded.

I want them to have a few good friends

I want them to feel able to do their best.

I want them to have hope and aspiration.

I want them to participate positively in the world around
them and enjoy it.

I want them to be literate and numerate but not at the
expense of the above.

Being honest I'm not sure what my child can learn when not feeling safe. The terror that gripped Sarah when being asked to read a word to me aged 6 shut her down for 10 minutes, unable to speak for fear.

Reading didn't seem so important after that.

Maybe I’m out of step with the government, school league
tables and the parents next to me at the school gate.

Two black eyes simultaneously, I was a duvet monster in his defence, by Ginger

All in the line of dad duties. I admit to not being a Waltons type dad, no sage words whilst sat on the porch, I'm not their 'bestie' and I don't want to be, but I took the good from my childhood and we did ok.
Then this summer for a fleeting moment all seemed lost.

Birth family stepped out of the words in case notes and became flesh. Sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and dad...........and DAD
What if they make their future exclusively with them?

I thought I was secure, I thought I was progressive, open and forward thinking. I thought all that history counted for something.

It was a like the sensation of being winded and for what seems like an eternity you can't breath. You forget how to, and something that you've done countless times suddenly is forgotten and outside of your control. Straining to draw air, panic rises.

I floundered, what if they were going to leave and put the last 15 years behind them. All my dues counted for nothing, faded away, those experiences did not make me a dad. The years of being there suddenly meaningless.

All that 'stuff' meant nothing because I love them. I couldn't consider them not being part of my life.
For a few hours the threat of loss enveloped me and permeated me,

Then you breathe. You catch air again.
They are not leaving just exploring, broadening, rediscovering.

Thursday, 8 January 2015

Without doubt some of the most important and significant
people in my children’s lives are their biological mother and father. I’ve
previously blogged on them describing them as ghosts that lurk in the shadows of our lives and
consciousness.

Over the past few weeks other birth family members have
begun to step into the light and it has been a very interesting experience for
a multitude of reasons.

For whatever reasons we never got the chance to meet birth
mum and dad, we said we were willing but it just didn’t come together. Having
been filmed for the BBC we knew that we were known to them and had heard through
an intermediary there was no animosity towards us. We heard no more for 15 years
until this summer when ‘Matilda’ a sibling, younger than Sarah and older than
Gracie and Ginger found us.

After the initial whirlwind of discovery slow and careful contact has
been made. Culminating a few days ago when Mrs C sat with our children’s birth
aunt, a very emotive and profound experience for them both. She was little more than a child at
the time of her niece and nephew’s move into care. Hearing the impact that this
move and the events and circumstances had on her and the wider family has been
a not unexpected revelation. The stories of the lack of information, the
differing version of events, the mess and the pain for the wider birth family
and the long term damage the removal caused.

In the midst of it all we hear of our annual letters coming
to the family, being passed from member to member bringing news and hope.

Mrs C dutifully wrote the annual letters to Birth Mum and
Dad, there was a limited response in the early days but even this dried up after a
few years.

However, at the forefront of our minds was the benefit that
the letters were for our three. So Mrs C persisted even when there was no
response.

Thinking now I can imagine what I would write in their
circumstance, how to reply, what to say, what not to say, lives lived in
stalled grief and continuing pain. What could they write?

Mrs C would agonise over what to write each year, I would
watch TV, if I confess avoiding the task out of laziness and confidence in her
wisdom and writing skills.

Mrs C saw it very clearly, we're building for the future,
maintaining a positive link, offering hope and trying to ensure that a link
could be maintained. We were demonstrating to our children our lack of enmity
to their parents through our actions.

As the three grew we would show them the letters and they’d
help pick photos we included. It was an opportunity to revisit events, reframe
memories and bring context to growing understanding. We would promote empathy
and respect , listen to thoughts and feelings.

When Sarah got to 18 and having not had a response in nearly
10 years we stopped.

But Mrs C and the Aunt’s meeting this week justified all the
work she’d put in; the chore, the conflicting emotions, the disheartening lack
of reply. We know now that the letters found their audience and forged a
delicate and essential link. We now that they were eagerly awaited and passed
from hand to hand bringing news of children lost.

We aware that we are at the beginning of a new chapter and
there have been lots of tears. But we are confident that there is no rush our
children have their lives to restore and establish relationships with their
first family.

I am grateful as I know that for some children and families
the hope of contact is incomprehensible, impractical and dangerous.

For us we always knew that this day would come. Thankfully
we had already begun to build bridges.